


an exhale of smoke in the sky

by pendules



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Crack, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Falling in love isn't the hard part. Any masochistic asshole with a death wish and half a soul can do that. The hard part is deciding to do something about it, even when every fucking bone in your body feels like the brake line's been cut and you're hurtling straight off a precipice, irrevocably, all the way down.</i>
</p><p>Or: Ronan's attempts at courting Adam aren't as disastrous as you might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an exhale of smoke in the sky

Falling in love isn't the hard part. Any masochistic asshole with a death wish and half a soul can do that. The hard part is deciding to do something about it, even when every fucking bone in your body feels like the brake line's been cut and you're hurtling straight off a precipice, irrevocably, all the way down.

*

It starts as the small things: grabbing a pen from between his fingers and shoving his arm out of the way to correct a wrongly-conjugated verb, knees bumping under the desk, feeling his hot gaze on the side of his face instead of down at his work even as he lets out a huff of impatience; a firm hand on the small of his back as he guides him into their latest scab-making bit of trouble, this time involving a beat-up skateboard Noah procured from somewhere and hanging on to the side of the BMW while being yelled at by (and subsequently flipping off) the elderly; gently coaxing him by the wrist to his bed at two in the morning ("Go the fuck to sleep, Parrish."); showing up on weekends with a bunch of B-movies and throwing popcorn at each other throughout most of them; picking him up from work and stopping to split a diner milkshake; leaving strange, impractical, obviously-dreamt objects all over his apartment under the guise of 'experimenting'; leaving other things too, not dreams, but just as carefully deliberated.

He wonders if he's found the tape of songs he wrote, just his voice and a guitar, left under the floor mat of his car. He wonders if he's figured out that the scarf he left hanging from his desk chair changes colours, almost imperceptibly if you don't know what you're looking for, based on the wearer's mood.

*

Adam's looking at him like he thinks he's wandered here from a dream. Which would only really make sense if he regularly dreams about mystical bodies of water and Ronan in his underwear. 

"Just get in, for fuck's sake," he says, looking back at him. He's not too far from shore but the water's already at chest-level; the lake's deceptively deep. It probably was a good idea to explore it some more.

"It's way too early for this shit," Adam says.

Ronan shoots him a look that says, You _were the one who wanted to do this at 6am._

"Yeah, whatever, fine," he says, pulling his sweater over his head. Ronan feels a slight flush crawling up his neck, and he averts his eyes, pretending to be interested in something happening on the other side of the shore.

When he looks back, Adam's in his underwear, gingerly stepping into the shallows, arms wrapped around his chest, shaking slightly.

"It's fucking _freezing_ , you asshole."

Ronan grins at him. "Just come over here. You'll get used to it."

Sometimes, he wonders if he could goad him into absolutely anything, if their refusal to walk away from a challenge (and each other) will lead to both of their untimely deaths someday.

Adam wades in, cursing every so often, until he's standing just in front of him, close enough that a current could easily trip one of them into the other, but they're both holding their ground.

"Know what you're looking for?" Ronan says, searching his face openly now.

Adam looks back at him defiantly. "I will when I find it."

*

It feels like another kind of dream — walking through the fields around his childhood home that he used to miss like a physical hole inside of him — not the strange, unsettling type he's used to but something softer and quieter. 

Adam doesn't say much, just follows his lead, skin golden in the midday sun, strands of hair blowing back in the wind in a way that makes him itch to touch.

They slowly ascend a gently sloping hill that he used to roll down with his brothers, breathless and covered in grass stains.

Adam turns to admire the view as Ronan admires his silhouette. 

He sits with his legs pulled up to his chest, just watching him, as Ronan pulls two sodas out of a shabby picnic basket and tosses one to him.

"I think here was the first place I ever punched Declan," he says wistfully.

Adam smiles around his sip of Coke.

When he starts complaining about the nutritional content of their lunch ("Cheeseburgers aren't traditional picnic food, are they?"), Ronan throws a grape at him. 

"I'm going to throw you off this fucking hill."

"Try it, asshole."

Adam's the one who stubbornly pulls him to the edge afterwards and claims he can totally reach the bottom faster.

They lie sprawled on their backs at the bottom of the incline, staring up at the sky and grinning for a long time — before it starts raining and they have to run back to the Barns, completely soaked through but intoxicated with wild youth and euphoria.

*

Two weeks before spring break, Ronan shows up and tells him to get in the car, they're going trespassing. Adam just says, "What?" and then, "Hell no," and then, "I fucking hate you," as he opens the passenger door and climbs in, Ronan smiling serenely all the while.

Ten minutes later, when he stops a short distance away from the main entrance, he turns on him again. "We're not breaking into some fucking mansion, Ronan — There are probably alarms. Or fucking killer dogs —" And then he seems to put it together. " _Oh_. But —" 

He frowns at him. "You told Gansey you didn't want to go anyway."

"So did you," Ronan counters. Adam shifts uncomfortably in his seat, conceding the point; maybe he does hate these assholes as much as Ronan does, but part of him will always smart painfully when he feels different or excluded. Personally, Ronan thinks he doesn't fucking need any of them.

"Yeah, but this doesn't seem like _your_ kind of scene," Adam says, confused now.

"Well, that's why _I_ wasn't invited."

"I'm not going in without you," Adam says immediately, the words seeming to surprise even himself.

"Well, I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine without the circle-jerk of self-important assholes, Parrish."

"No, we can —" He bites his lip. Then a faint smile traces over the corners of his mouth, eyes lighting up with mischief in a way that makes Ronan's heart start racing reflexively. "Didn't you say something about trespassing?"

*

They find the easiest part of the fence to scale and keeping to the shadows, they make their way around to the back of the house. It's late enough that there are already a couple dozen cars parked out front and the bass is thumping loudly upstairs.

Ronan manages to pry a window on the ground floor open and climbs in after Adam. Adam looks down at his clothes, like he's finally realising they both look utterly out-of-place. Ronan slips his jacket off and tosses it to him.

He pulls it on over his faded t-shirt; he looks good, effortless and cool, like he stepped out of a fucking magazine. _One more thing, though._ He reaches out and musses up his hair a bit. Perfect. 

"What about you, though?" Adam says quietly. Ronan just shrugs; he'd probably stand out even more as an impostor in this crowd if he tried to dress the part.

They head up the stairs just off of the kitchen and follow the music into a massive rec room. No one even spares a glance their way as they enter, preoccupied with girls or booze or bragging about their various academic or extracurricular accomplishments.

Ronan locates the guy with the weed in under five minutes, a skill acquired from frequenting the Henrietta rave scene. If they're here, might as well have some fun. Adam could probably use it too.

Adam looks both scared and tentatively excited by everything going around them. "Gansey's not here yet," Ronan tells him, mouth pressed close to his ear. 

He spots Cheng, then, though, sweeping into the room, accompanied by two bored-looking girls, in the middle of a spiel about his modelling career, and Ronan grabs Adam by the shoulder and steers him away, out the French doors and onto a balcony off to the side of the house.

He sucks in some fresh air, leaning against the railing. He lights the joint and takes a deep inhale, already feeling like his bones are lighter. It's been a while.

Adam narrows his eyes at him, not judging but deciphering.

"Thought you didn't smoke," he says, like it's just an offhand observation.

Ronan doesn't respond, but just holds the joint out to him with a flick of his wrist.

"Wanna try?"

Adam just stares at him, so he shrugs and takes another drag.

Adam lets out an exasperated sigh and then he's pulling the joint out from between his lips, but instead of putting it between his own, he's cupping his hands around Ronan's mouth, gentle but insistent, pressing his own to the other side of the makeshift funnel. He raises an eyebrow like a fucking _dare_ , and Ronan slowly exhales into his mouth. It feels like he's letting go of any dark impulse that's been telling him to fight this, to push him away, to destroy it before he destroys them both with his reckless want. It feels like it could be okay; it feels like Adam reaching back out to him in the dark. Like he's not afraid.

Adam drops his hands, managing to not choke on it and looking proud of that fact, and blows the smoke out of his nose. He wants to say, _If you wanted to kiss me, you just had to ask_ , but he's struck speechless, by the moonlight playing over his face, by his bright, wide eyes still fixed on his, by the thought of _actually_ kissing him when he's like this: slightly dangerous and uninhibited and sensual. 

"I used to think it would be like trying to catch smoke," Ronan tells him, when he's moved back a step or two, body withdrawn, like he's remembered himself.

"What?" Adam says, eyes curious and unguarded, voice soft.

" _You_."

He looks like he's about to reply, but then the balcony doors all but crash open and one of their classmates appears, wrapped around a girl with shiny hair who, extraordinarily, is still able to breathe even with his tongue forced halfway down her throat.

Adam looks half-affronted and half-fascinated by the scene in front of them. Ronan gestures to the door, and Adam follows him back inside, easily avoiding the couple's notice. Ronan grabs two glasses of champagne before they leave, through the front doors this time.

"That was nice," Adam tells him, vaguely, when they're strolling through the cool, night air back to the car. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of Ronan's jacket. It's probably never going to stop smelling like him. The thought would've made him want to punch something months ago, but now, it just expands inside him pleasantly, filling him up, like a warm and steady flame.

He wants to say, _You're welcome_ , but he settles for smiling, slow and content, knowing it won't be seen in the darkness.

They drink champagne leaning against the side of the BMW, clinking their glasses together mockingly, somehow feeling more ease and belonging, just the two of them under the stars, than in any magicless room full of the supposed exceptional but utterly devoid of anything real.

*

Cabeswater's brighter these days, more real and alive, somehow. Or maybe it's just _Adam_ , strong and present and _awake_ , and they can feel it and they're reflecting it. He's electric, magnetic, feeding off of the energy of the line as it feeds off of him, and drawing Ronan's gaze wherever he is: sharp and attentive in class, or silently gazing out the window of his car, or purposefully restoring parts of the ley line.

They're in Cabeswater on the first day of spring break and Adam had immediately shed his jacket, basking in the warmth, and went exploring some new corner, Gansey and Ronan following behind at a short distance.

"We should spend all of spring break here," Gansey says, cheerily.

"Your future mother-in-law might have something to say about that."

"God, _stop_ ," he says, flushing red.

"Stop acting like you're not fucking obvious," Ronan says but it's not combative.

Gansey just shrugs noncommittally. Ronan gives him a small but genuine smile then. He could do worse than Sargent.

"What about you? Have you told him yet?" Gansey says with a significant look at Adam's diminishing form in front of them.

"I know that I haven't told _you_ anything," he says stiffly, an attempt at evasiveness he already knows is futile.

"Oh, come on. Speaking of _obvious_ ," he says, grinning smugly.

"He already knows," Ronan says, blunt, but honest.

"Okay," Gansey says, and it feels like conviction; it feels like the kind of trust and assurance he desperately needs.

*

Ronan comes out of detention one Friday afternoon to find Adam sitting against the wall of the corridor, frantically scribbling the lengthy solution to a calculus problem, half of it seemingly furiously scratched-out. It looks like he's been there for a while, gnawing on his bottom lip, legs folded beneath him, engrossed in his work. He doesn't notice him standing there for a few moments and then he looks up and hurriedly starts shoving books and papers into his bag; he stretches his limbs before taking Ronan's proffered hand and pulling himself to his feet. 

They don't talk as they head towards the door, the sounds of their footsteps echoing in the hollow, deserted corridor.

"Where's Gansey?" Ronan finally asks as he unlocks the driver's side door. He'd picked Adam up this morning in order to discuss Glendower theories or World Hist. homework or whatever boring shit they talk about.

"Went over to Blue's to ask her mom about something." He doesn't look bitter about it, or maybe he's just hiding it well. Ronan's surprised to find it doesn't have much of an effect on him either, being left out of the loop, not like it would have before. It's not like the two of them haven't deliberately excluded Gansey more than once recently, too. Maybe they're all growing apart — for the better — or maybe they're just _growing_. Becoming their own people.

"Where to?" he says, casually, when he's started the car.

"Just drive," Adam says, firmly. "I'll tell you where to go."

*

They park on the side of a road that's almost completely canopied by trees, the sky barely visible above them. Adam gets out and starts trekking down the rough incline off the edge of the road and into the dense thicket of trees, like he's following his own personal GPS. Ronan follows, slower, listening for the rustle of leaves and the thud of his shoes on the ground. He's sitting in a clearing when he catches up to him, getting ready to scry, just as methodical as he was before, absorbed in equations. Maybe this is just another kind of math to him: a problem to simplify to its core components and apply a formula to until the answers are shaken loose. 

He sits next to him, assuming he's just here as a spectator and not a participant in this ritual. Looking into the future is still a dubious science to him, especially as someone who didn't particularly care if he had one not so long ago.

Only then Adam finally seems to remember he's there, cocking his head up and saying, "I need your help with this."

It takes him aback, not just because Adam thinks he could be useful, but that he's actually _asking_ for it.

"Yeah, okay," he says, inexplicably nervous but not about to show it. "What do you need?"

Adam swallows before answering, like it's just as hard for him to ask. "Last time I tried this, Blue and Noah had to pull me back... So, I need — an _anchor_ , I guess."

If Adam wasn't looking so unsure already, he'd probably laugh in his face at the suggestion of _Ronan_ being a steadying force.

"Yeah, okay, whatever, I'll do it."

"You should probably be touching me," Adam says, distractedly.

"What?"

"I mean —" He grabs Ronan's hand in both of his until he's shifted closer to him, and then he rests it right above his wrist, closing Ronan's fingers around his own forearm. He's kneeling over the scrying bowl, hands on the ground at both sides of his body.

Ronan feels it — like a tug right in the centre of his chest — when Adam leaves his body. He holds on tighter, almost like a death-grip. His nails are probably going to leave indentations in his skin.

It's a long time of just waiting, of wondering if maybe his touch and presence isn't enough to chain him to the earth, if he's been lost to him, incorporeal and faint, like a wisp of smoke passing right through his fingers.

It feels like a shock to every one of his nerve-endings when Adam's snapped back into his body, gasping for air, trembling slightly. Ronan's hand slides down to loosely encircle his wrist, but he doesn't let go; he won't until he's asked. He doesn't look scared or perturbed, though, oddly. He looks like he's shaking from _exhilaration_. 

"What did you see?" Ronan whispers, when his breaths start coming at a steady rate again.

"Glendower," Adam says, hushed but certain.

Ronan just stares at him, thinking _Fuck_ , thinking _Look at us_ , thinking _You're fucking amazing and you don't even_ know.

"I found your tape," Adam tells him, eyes locked onto his.

"Only about three months late," Ronan says, careful to not betray any of his apprehension.

"Did you mean it? I mean — Is _that_ what it was?" Adam says, eyes wide and bewildered like he's never seen him before.

"Is that what _what_ was?" he asks, stubbornly.

"The — the party. And the tape. And the other stuff you left me. The weird scarf. The movies. I'm pretty sure you don't even _like_ strawberry milkshakes," he accuses.

"Jesus Christ, Parrish, if you're trying to ask me something, just spit it out." He's tired of games, really; that's what all of this has been about all along.

"Were you trying to — I don't know — _court_ me?"

He _does_ actually burst out laughing at that. "'Court' you? Who _talks_ like that? Well, except for Gansey —"

"So — it's true?" Adam asks, still looking half-stunned.

"Yeah — yeah, it's fucking true." He's definitely not turning a fierce shade of pink.

Adam just stares at him for a long moment, and he finally releases his grip on his wrist, slowly sliding his hand away — until Adam reaches out and catches it in his own.

"What are you doing?" Ronan asks, glancing from their entangled fingers back up to his eyes, which are inscrutable.

"I think I'm showing you how _I_ feel," Adam says under his breath before leaning in and catching his lips too. 

They sit there, kissing in the dirt, for a long time. Adam's hand runs up his arm and over his shoulder, tracing the lines of his neck where his shirt's unbuttoned, kissing the hollow between his collarbones, then moving his hands lower — under the hem of his sweater and untucked shirt, until his palms are sliding, warm and slow, against the undulating planes of his stomach. Ronan fists one hand into his hair and wraps the other around his waist to pull him halfway into his lap, kissing along his jaw and cheekbone, playfully sucking his earlobe into his mouth.

Adam curls into his body, like he belongs there, laughs breathlessly and sweetly against his neck. Ronan rubs circles with his thumbs onto his lower back, eyes closed, breathing in the cool, crisp air — feeling like they're too alive and essential and tied to the earth and to each other to ever fade away.

*

Adam's a warm, sleepy weight on top of him, lazily kissing his neck, hands still wandering tantalisingly in the vicinity of the waistband of his underwear.

"You should go to sleep," Ronan says, amused.

"Don't want to," he says, even as his words are heavy with drowsiness.

"I'll be here in the morning," Ronan says, kissing the top of his head.

"You always leave before I wake up," Adam murmurs, and it's not a false accusation. There's a sudden, sharp twinge in his chest at the words.

"I won't this time," he promises, finding his hand and squeezing it.

He feels Adam nod against his skin right before he falls asleep, solid and real, in his arms.

*

Adam climbs into the passenger seat on Monday morning, wearing the scarf that seems to be more air than wool, light and gauzy, even if it's warmer than any ordinary one. It shimmers in the sunlight — turning a hue that's vaguely rose-gold, almost like a slight blush — as Ronan's eyes catch it, and him, and he smiles to himself before he steps on the gas. Adam holds his hand all the way to school.


End file.
